Nacht
by serain
Summary: Strangers may think his corpse mutilated, but it was an act of veneration. Karel/Guy, Necrophilia


I know some people don't like this, but look, _someone's_ gotta do the rapin'! Though seriously, after analysis by a few characterization freaks, this is shown to be oddly IC in it's own, twisted way.

Also, be warned: **Bloodplay **and** necrophilia**. This may squick.

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The sword slid out of Guy effortlessly. His throat clenched as he coughed up blood, his muscles tensed, and he fell, with no one but his old master to witness his death. His broken sword fell out of his hand, with him, pieces clattering to the ground.

A blood bubble formed on his lips and burst. Karel could see his body weakly flailing in an attempt to stay alive, muscles shifting, tensing, and finally relaxing. He lay still.

It was poetic, in a way, Karel thought.

Guy's head was turned to the side, mouth was still slightly open from shock - from the sharp intake of the last breath he drew. Blood ran slowly, trickling from a corner, staining his teeth and lips, running down his cheek and jaw and dripping onto the hard-packed earth where he lay. It compelled him.

Karel felt like he was moving through water as he dropped to his knees at Guy's side.

A good swordsman, he idly thought, should always clean his blade. The legendary Wo Dao was covered in grime, and it would rust without care. But it hardly seemed to matter anymore. It had bathed in the blood of thousands upon thousands of fools who did not know one end of a sword from the other. They came to challenge him one by one and sometimes in droves - bandits, mercenaries, arrogant men who showed no promise. They had been cut down where they stood. It was practically a mercy killing - they were useless to this world, useless to him.

He sometimes left the younger ones alive. They might have had a certain body language, a gleam in their eye - it might have even been on a whim.

A heart that did not know emotions could not feel regret, but Karel did know that he would never find swordsmanship as beautiful as his had been again, as long as he lived.

His first, only, last student.

He breathed and stared for a while. A rivulet of blood, the product of his heart beating it's last beat, pushed it's way out of the corner of Guy's mouth. Karel watched as it slowly made it's way down his cheek.

Before he knew what he was doing, he tilted his former student's head upwards and pressed an open mouth to his jaw, where the blood had trickled and gathered before falling to the earth. The skin was still warm. With a quick swipe of his tongue, he lapped it up. Guy's scent and the taste of the blood, while coppery and normally revolting, was intoxicating to him. The sun was high in the sky, and yet it felt like fire on his lips, under his skin.

His mouth wandered down, down to the point where Guy's pulse would have been had his heart still had any blood left to feed it. Guy's face still retained some of his boyish innocence, but at the same time seemed more weathered. His cheekbones were more prominent, his jaw more defined. Karel broke away reluctantly and traced it slowly. With his other hand, undid the fastenings of Guy's worn, stitched and re-stitched Sacean outfit. He had filled out, his body neither as gangly or wiry has he remembered. It had matured with his form.

His sword arm protested with the exertion - it had nearly been severed in the fight. The long, yet moderately shallow gash stretched from the edge of his shoulder blade, across his tricep, and curved to end near his elbow. Another deep one was on his side. A thrust, a lunge. That, he had to use a vulnerary on, lest blood loss kill him. He had forgotten for so long what pain felt like, and he was loath to end it now. It was glorious. A clean cut. Guy's swordwork would never allow ragged edges - each slice was exact, precise. To cleave, to wound deeply, but not to kill. The difference between Saint and Demon. He buried his face in Guy's hair, behind his ear, and breathed in his scent again. It was perfect. It had been his downfall.

He moved upwards.

His jawline, his cheek, the corner of his mouth where the blood pooled were all visited with a gentleness Karel didn't know he possessed. Finally, he captured Guy's soft, tender, blood-caked lips while his good hand cupped Guy's face. He ran his tongue around his unresponsive mouth, pulse quickening as he lapped up the blood. The fire he felt pooled in the pit of his stomach as he plundered his sweet mouth feverishly. It was a lover's kiss, he headily realized.

Adrenaline overrode pain as he fumbled at his pant laces. He thrust two fingers from his other hand into Guy's mouth, opening it wider and at the same time coating them with the mixture of saliva and blood he found there.

Nothing but praise and admiration had come out from that sweet mouth from the day they met. And of course, one last challenge.

_"Master."_

_"You are ready. We will battle here, Sword Saint. To the death!"_

_"I will not lose!"_

_"Neither will I! Now come!"_

Karel groaned. Every touch he visited upon his former pupil's body made him ache - he had never been so aroused, and his pants felt unbearably tight. He was also oddly greedy, overcome by a lust that was usually reserved for battle.

More, more. He licked his lips and grabbed the undone collar of Guy's shirt and ripped it open. The sight that greeted him made him, if possible, even hornier.

Scars. Beautiful. The most prominent, recent ones were his. His felt a surge of smug possessiveness at this. When the young swordsman began to show real promise, he could not help marking him a little. He straddled Guy's body and ran his hands - one slick and one dry – slowly down his chest.

On a whim, he had left a deep cut from stomach to hip. Another - shoulder to a little past his sternum, and a third, from the side of his neck to collarbone - missing every artery on purpose. Guy had done particularly well that day.

_"M-Master! Ahh! I-! Uuh..."_

Gritted teeth and quick, shallow gasps. It was terribly hard to breathe, much less talk, with a wound like that. A vulnerary and some gauze needed to be used, but it was just deep enough to scar. Karel had made sure of that, as with the others, and was most pleased with this one in particular because the tip could be seen even above Guy's high collar. Guy probably never realized how purposeful they were. But, if Karel knew how beautiful his student's swordsmanship would become, he surely would have carved his name into his chest for all to see while he had the chance.

Karel let a smirk tug at the corners of his lips as he traced the scars. He was so proud. There were older scars from other battles, a few afterwards that he recognized as the work of the skilled minions of Nergal, but none newer than those. Not a scratch had been laid on him as he traveled Elibe alone. He expected nothing less.

The dark wound on his abdomen that killed him was still gaping and seeping sluggishly. Gravity had allowed the blood to mostly drain out of his back, where Karel's sword had exited him. However, there was still a great deal left. Karel dipped his hand into the open wound and brought it to his lips. He then licked off each of his fingers, as if he had just enjoyed a particularly savory meal.

He let out a breath he didn't know he was holding. It must have been an aphrodisiac, because he was quickly pulling his engorged cock out of his pants and bracing Guy's head in his hands and between his thighs before thrusting in.

Ah, bliss. Karel panted harshly and held himself back. It was still warm and wet, and he paused a little just to enjoy the feel of it, before starting to fuck Guy's unresponsive mouth in earnest.

It must have been what those annoying Emiline followers called heaven. At first he went with slow rocking motions, but then progressed to a heavy rhythm, pulling out a little then shoving himself deeper down Guy's throat with each trust. Saliva and blood lubricated his way, and Guy's mouth was soft and pliable around his cock.

Guy's teeth gently grazed his member as Karel took his pleasure from his body. His eyes were wide, open, pupils dilated, staring into space as they had been a moment before his death. Once bright green eyes were dull and glassy, almost as if he were about to cry. Karel breathed and moaned, thrusting even harder and faster. Beautiful.

His orgasm came to him silently.

It was by far the best orgasm he'd ever had. He was completely mindless for a perfect moment, balls deep, wracked with tremors, and his cock gushing seed down his former student's throat.

Shakily, he pulled his softening cock out, then stood and righted his clothing. He looked back at Guy's corpse.

The crows would pick him dry before anyone finds his remains. Karel had left a hundred opponents this way, and a thousand more still barely alive, their unworthy bodies mangled and waiting to be picked apart slowly, until there was not enough for them to live on. He had never minded the slightest before, but somehow, it now seemed an injustice.

Perhaps, Karel thought, he should take a piece of him. Maybe a finger - not off his sword hand, of course.

Guy's sword was snapped. The pieces glinted as he looked at them solemnly. Karel retrieved his own - it's red edge crusted and stained with dried blood, but still sharp enough. With a swift slice, the last foot of Guy's thick braid, ribbon still intact, laid in his hand.

The braid was ridiculous, he thought. It always bobbed along behind him.

_"Please, I implore you! Teach me the art of the sword! I want my name to be known far and wide in Sacae!" He managed a sort of awkward bow, and his braid flopped to the front._

He scarcely remembered how to perform the rites, but he gave him a Sacean warrior's funeral, scattering his ashes where sky met earth, so both could witness his passing.


End file.
